The Best of All of Us
by M. D. Jensen
Summary: On their way back to Camelot, Merlin and Gwaine take a moment to mourn. Spoilers for The Darkest Hour.


Disclaimer: not mine.

On their way back to Camelot after repairing the tear in the veil, Merlin and Gwaine take a moment to mourn Lancelot.

Note: this started as a total Merlin fic with Gwaine really only there in the background. Somehow, though, he ended up a costar. Concrit of his characterization is greatly appreciated as I still don't feel entirely comfortable with writing him.

_The Best of All of Us_

Merlin wasn't sure why Arthur had agreed on riding back through the Valley of Kings, now that the urgency had passed. Maybe he was eager to assess the damage to Camelot, or to see if Gwen and Uther had survived the Dorocha safely. Still, his assent had been entirely without argument. Not that Merlin minded. He wasn't sure himself why exactly he wanted to come this way- until, that is, they made camp for the night.

He recognized the river immediately. A bit more slowly, he recognized this as the best chance he'd get to say a proper goodbye to his friend. There would be a memorial service back in Camelot, of course, but truthfully Merlin had always found memorials a bit lacking. No, better to steal a moment now to remember the man who'd saved him, multiple times. The man who knew about his magic, who afforded him rare moments of blessed honesty.

Lancelot, the man who had been- who always would be- his friend.

Merlin awoke before sunrise to find Percival on watch. He considered lying- saying he was answering nature's call, or getting a headstart on finding breakfast. But either of these might have prompted Percival to investigate after too much time had passed. And so instead he told the truth: that he was walking a bit down the river but would stay within eyesight of the fire. Percival's assent was quiet and immediate. Maybe with the Dorocha gone, more worldy hazards seemed less threatening. Or maybe he just understood.

Merlin wandered slowly downstream, trying to remember the exact spot where they'd lain. He realized fairly readily that he wouldn't find it, and so instead chose a log at random and sunk down on it wearily. Away from the fire, he was terribly cold- truthfully, despite the intervention of the Vilia, he hadn't felt warm since being attacked. Maybe not since the first appearance of the Cailleach. He wrapped his arms around himself as best he could, and stared out at the water. The sun was still a fair amount of time away, but in the distance the sky was growing lighter. The air smelled of dew.

The footsteps came just as pink sky broke out through the trees. "Chilly out," a voice remarked blandly.

Gwaine settled with a huff on the log beside him. Hurriedly, Merlin swiped at his eyes and schooled his face as best he could.

For a minute or so, Gwaine was silent. Then he laughed quietly. "This place is absolutely beautiful." Another moment of laughter- delighted, awed, and sorrowful, all at once. "Fucking beautiful," he declared. "I see why you wanted to come back this way."

"This is the river where we rested, when Lancelot was taking me back to Camelot." Phlegm clogged Merlin's throat and his voice was creaky to his own ears. He coughed, sniffed, and coughed again.

Gwaine nodded when Merlin finally finished and glanced over at him. "He didn't hesitate to volunteer, you know. Not for a moment."

"I know," Merlin murmured. Despite himself, he felt his tired muscles forming a wan smile. "He thanked me, actually. While I was unconscious, he was going to sit guard, and the spirits of the river appeared to him. Told him they would heal me and watch over us both." Merlin shook his head. "He told me it was a _renewing_ experience."

"Hah! Lancelot." Gwaine's bark of laughter was a burst of bright color an otherwise pastel landscape. "Bit of a romantic for my taste, but he grew on you, I suppose."

Merlin nodded sadly.

"Merlin," Gwaine began, then puffed up his cheeks and blew out his breath thoughtfully. "I told you once about my stunning records of friendship, I believe?"

Eyes fixed on the dizzily shifting water, Merlin scoffed. "If I recall correctly, it amounted to me."

"Yes, well, I hope you're not offended," Gwaine replied casually, stretching his legs out in front of him. "But I've added a few more to the list since then." He paused, then added quietly, "Lancelot included."

Tears burned hot behind Merlin's eyes again, the moisture and pressure blurring his vision until the water of the river swam doubly. "I'm terribly offended," he teased weakly. "I enjoyed sole claim on you."

Gwaine's next sound could only be described as a ridiculously amorous growl. Merlin chuckled in response, and the reflexive laughter soon grew into actual mirth. But letting go his hold on one emotion seemed to set off a chain reaction, and a few tears darted quickly down his cheeks. Merlin brushed them away as they fell.

"Did I ever tell you how we met?" he asked, fishing for a distraction. When Gwaine shook his head, Merlin smiled. "I should have. It was actually similar to how the two of us met. Lancelot saved me from a wild beast, got tangled up unfairly in Camelot issues"- here Gwaine guffawed appreciatively- "and got himself banished from the kingdom. Showed up later in a cage match, come to think of it." Merlin shook his head, eyes filling up yet again. The smile faded from his face as he stared broodingly into the river.

"You've got to find a better way of making new friends, Merlin," Gwaine advised seriously.

Merlin ignored him. He picked up a stick, stripped it of a few tiny branches, then threw it back down when his fingers began to shake. It was getting harder to breathe, and he brought a hand up to cover his face before it could crumple entirely in front of Gwaine.

But Gwaine didn't tease him or crack a joke. He didn't ignore him either. Gwaine did what only Gaius ever had in Merlin's adult life: he grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him bodily sideways, wrapping an arm around his back and squeezing.

Merlin shivered and let his chin fall forward against his chest as Gwaine tightened his one-arm hold. He was so cold, and Gwaine was so warm, that Merlin had to fight the urge to tuck himself against his friend for heat as well as comfort. He stayed put, though, wanting to maintain at least a bit of dignity. Hand still up, Merlin let out a few rough noises; then he forced himself to draw in a deep, steady breath and uncover his face.

When Gwaine shook him by the shoulder, Merlin smiled and laid his hand atop his friend's, just for a moment. Then he pulled it away again and wiped his streaming eyes and nose.

"I will say, I appreciate you doing things in that order," Gwaine remarked, and Merlin looked down at the tears and snot glistening on the back of his hand and blinked. There was no name for the emotion that overtook him. The best thing he could compare it to was the feeling of scream dying before it had the chance to break free.

"What're you doing, divining with your excretions?" Gwaine's incredulous voice was an anchor to grab hold of, and Merlin pulled himself back to the present. He wiped his messy hand on his trousers and gave one last sniff.

"He was the best of all of us," Merlin said softly.

"I know."

"He didn't have to do what he did. I had it under control."

"I was the only man who walked into that chamber with the intention of walking out again," Gwaine mused. Merlin was truly unprepared for what came next. "Of course, that means I should have been the one to do it."

"What?"

Gwaine shrugged. "I should have been the one to sacrifice myself. Camelot needs Arthur. Obviously Arthur needs you- though none of us have quite worked out why." He smiled. "So it was down to the great knight and the drunkard knight. I shouldn't have let Lancelot die. I shouldn't have let you all lose him."

"You were unconscious," Merlin whispered. "You didn't have a choice."

"I knew what he was planning well before we entered," Gwaine countered in a hiss. If Merlin had been surprised by his friend's words, he felt an absolute shock at the tears in his eyes. "I should've just... run at the thing," Gwaine sighed. "Saved everyone the trouble. Camelot would still have its bravest knight, and you wouldn't be sitting here weeping like a new widow."

That statement stung a bit more than Gwaine's usual jibes. Maybe it was because, contrary to the rest of Gwaine's speech, it seemed to treat Lancelot's death quite lightly. Or maybe it was because of the shocking loneliness that lurked close behind it.

There was no way to say it that wasn't awkward, so Merlin just said it: "right. Except, I would be." Embarrassed, he laughed.

Gwaine blinked, looked up, and looked away again.

"I've never had many friends either, Gwaine," Merlin continued. "Lancelot was one of my closest. But- so are you."

Gwaine shot to his feet as though under attack, the emotion on his face impossibly vivid. Then it drained away in a rush and he flopped onto the ground, splayed out in a prone pose.

"Gwaine?" Merlin gasped, but the man was fine.

"You're mine as well. Obviously," Gwaine replied, addressing the lightening sky as though his change in position were entirely unworthy of comment.

"Comfortable?" Merlin smirked.

"Quite. I've slept on a lot of dirt, Merlin, but this dirt by this river might be the finest." Gwaine breathed in deeply then blew the air out in a stream; Merlin watched his chest fall steadily. "I'm going to miss him," Gwaine sighed.

"Yeah."

"And youd've missed me?"

"Of course."

"Funny. You know, a few years ago I could've died without anyone caring. Anyone could've died without me caring. Now I've got- fuck, three people who'd care? Well, down to two now, I suppose. No, I think Elyan would care." Gwaine picked a rock up and threw it into the river without looking. "You, Percy, and Elyan," he decided.

"We'd all care, Gwaine," Merlin replied quietly. "Arthur and Leon and Gwen would care as well."

Gwaine didn't say anything for a long time. The silence itself was startling. "Gwaine?" Merlin finally prompted.

"Stop talking and come look at this sky." His voice was soft, unforced.

"I can see it from here," Merlin replied, puzzled.

"No. Come see it from here," Gwaine insisted, a bit restlessly.

Merlin stood and took a few steps forward to gaze down on his friend. Gwaine was, as always, dirty and rumpled, his long hair collecting twigs and blades of grass. Tears had clearly run down his temples to his ears, but his eyes were dry by now.

Seeing no other feasible course of action, Merlin stretched out stiffly on the ground beside him.

"Now look up," Gwaine commanded.

Merlin did.

The sky above faded lazily from blue to orange to pink, all the colors pale and hazy. Framed by the jewel green leaves, though, shot through with purple clouds, and with a yellow tone telling of the immanent sunrise- it was unimaginably beautiful. Merlin could smell dew and grass and dirt, and though the air was still chilled, suddenly he wasn't cold anymore.

"Fuck," Gwaine breathed.

"Now who's the romantic?" Merlin teased. He breathed slowly, and the air felt impossibly good in his lungs. "We wouldn't be seeing this now if not for Lancelot."

"Well then, thank you, Sir Lancelot!" Gwaine called, kicking his heels into the ground for emphasis.

"Thanks, Lancelot," Merlin echoed softly.

"The others are going to talk if we don't head back soon," Gwaine noted, a bit of brightness back in his voice. "Percy especially. Loves starting the sordid rumors, that one."

Merlin laughed. Personally he was a bit more concerned about the verbal lashing he'd get from Arthur for slowing them down, but at the moment he hardly cared. "Just until the sun rises," he murmured, crossing his arms under his head as a pillow. "Won't be long to wait."

Gwaine reached over and thumped him on the chest. "Anything for you, my friend," he promised. "Until the sun rises."


End file.
